Everlong
by brucas025
Summary: Nothing lasts forever. It hurts, but it may be the only way. Brucas BL.
1. Prologue

**Prologue.**

She sat on his stomach, one knee on each side of his body. The mahogany wood that surrounded him shone in the light that was filtering in from the window. He was on his back, the cold floor pressed up against his spine, looking up at her. He could hardly feel the weight of her tiny body on his stomach, and he knew that within a matter of months, little things like this would be impossible. His hands wandered under her loose t-shirt to the small bump that had started to form. If you had seen her walking down the street, she would've looked completely normal. Skinny, fit, beautiful. But if you looked close enough, if you _really_ knew her, you could see that her normally toned stomach had taken on a slightly different shape. But as of right now, they were both happy keeping it their little secret.

She smiled at his touch and closed her eyes. His hands wandered back and forth across the small bump. She smiled to herself, her dimples forming small valleys on her creamy skin.

He looked at her face. _Peaceful._ He moved his hands to each side of her and squeezed affectionately. "What?" he asked, a small smile playing on his own face now.

Her eyes were closed, but she could see him. His image was burned into her eyelids, and she knew his every facial expression, every move, by heart.

She opened her eyes slowly, not bothered by the bright sunlight that flooded over their bodies. It streaked his face and made his already electrifying eyes looked even more piercing.

"I feel like I shouldn't be happy about this," she started. "And at first I wasn't. I was panicked. We both have so much left to do in our lives…" She frowned slightly at the thought and he squeezed her sides lovingly once again. They both had so much potential, this she knew. A mere week ago, she was going to become a fashion designer and he was going to become the next John Steinbeck.

It was amazing how _one night_ could change so much.

"But, now that I've gotten used to the idea, I wouldn't trade being here right now for anything."

She put her own hand on her stomach now. She stroked it in a circular pattern: the same pattern that she had used on Lucas's chest that night. Slow, small circles. _Slow, small circles._

His hand found its way to hers and she smiled again. He interlaced his fingers into hers and together, they traced circles on her stomach.

"I know what you mean," he said finally. "But this feels right."

"It doesn't bother you that it happened this way?" she asked with a slight frown.

A mere week ago, she was going to be a fashion designer and he was going to be the next John Steinbeck. A mere week ago, she was going to move to New York when she graduated in order to immerse herself in things that would distract her from love and he was going to marry Peyton Sawyer, already in love.

It was amazing how _one night_ could change so much.

"If you mean, do I regret it? Do I wish it was with Peyton?" He watched as she cringed slightly at _her _name. "No. Peyton… she just isn't _you_," he said simply. He couldn't believe that he was saying these words. They were rolling off his tongue naturally. "_She_ was never _you_. And I can't imagine _this_ being with anybody else. I don't _want_ it to be with anybody else."

And sitting there, with Brooke carrying his baby, he knew that he had fallen in love with her all over again.

She smiled and closed her eyes once again, satisfied with his answer.

That night. She hadn't been there in ages, but she needed to be let in through the black door. He hadn't bothered to paint it back to its original color after they had broken up, and it eased the knot in her stomach slightly. She had been in this room only two times this year. Once to pick up some stuff she had left behind, which resulted in a fight. The other, to drop off the sweatshirt she had clung to. It had taken her four months, and she slept with that sweatshirt _every single night_, but she knew she'd have to give it back.

It hadn't been the most eloquent speech she had ever made. _I'm scared of being home alone, you know that._ It had not been the perfect, romantic setting. _Your room hasn't changed. _It had been two unsure hearts that had found hope within each other. It had been history and heartache. _I don't know if she's the one anymore._ It had been two seventeen-year olds under the right circumstances, unsure of their decisions. _Just because I smile doesn't mean it doesn't sting like hell to see you two together!_ It was lips crashing onto one another. It had been one night.

The next morning had consisted of promises of sealed lips. And somehow, as she had begun to make her way through the door, their lips had found each other once again.

She stood up then, leaving Lucas staring at the ceiling.

"Where ya goin', Pretty Girl?"

He could only see her back, but he knew she was smiling to herself. She turned around, revealing the devious smirk that he had come to love. "Shower… there might just be some extra room for you…"

She winked at him before retreating to the bathroom. He heard the water start running and steam floated from the small crack under the door into the room. He would join her soon, they both knew he would. He always did. But, right now, he was content with his back to the floor listening to her hum happily, the water pounding against the white tiles.


	2. Better Days

She stands in front of the full length mirror observing her appearance. She pulls at her outfit in a feeble attempt to smooth the black blazer of its wrinkles. The matching black slacks look too uniform for her. _She_ is too uniform. The girl who thrived off spontaneity is a now a girl of routine. She cringes as her hands find their way to her stomach. She closes her eyes as she feels the tears begin to well into them, hands still resting on her abdomen. This routine has become _too_ much of a routine for her. She won't allow the tears to fall onto her hollow, pale cheeks. It is a sign of weakness, and Brooke Davis is _not_ weak.

_I can't believe this could happen._

She wipes the residue of fresh tears from her eyes and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She walks to the bathroom and washes her face. The sound of the phone ringing is piercing, but once again, this is routine. She knows who it is, and that is why she makes no effort to answer. It is the same person every morning, and the same ignorance every morning.

"_Brookie! It's mommy-dearest!"_ Her mother's voice echoes from the bedroom across the apartment. "_We're coming to New York tomorrow and we want to see you, darling. We'll be at your apartment around seven. Call your mother back for once? We're worried."_ Click. End of message. No 'I love you,' no 'we miss you.' Just silence. _We're worried._

At least Elizabeth Davis's purpose is a new one. Normally, it is just a call that pleas for her to answer the phone. _They're worried. Karen Scott called them. Lucas is worried. The blonde girl, oh god, what's her name? Oh yes! Peyton! She's worried. We know you're near the phone, just answer darling!_ But now they are coming, to New York, and seeing them and speaking to them is inevitable. She sighs, feeling defeated, as usual.

Grabbing her purse, she's out the door of the dingy apartment and out onto the New York streets in the fresh, November air.

_How does this happen?_

New York is different than Tree Hill. No one knows you in New York.

She stands on the curb trying to hail a cab, and as one pulls up, a stout man jumps in front of her and dives into the cab. He snickers as the car speeds off, leaving her on the curb in utter shock.

No one gives a damn about you in New York.

She walks further down the block and finally managed to hail a cab (after twenty minutes, but who's counting?).

_There's no explanation. Things like this just happen._

She blurts the address of her office building and finds her cheek pressed upon the cold glass of the window.

_What am I supposed to do now?_

She hated thinking. The silence of the cab made her thoughts reel. _Only four more blocks. _She closed her eyes tightly, a mechanism that helped push out her thoughts. Four months.

_You shouldn't have left._

But she had to leave. That place held too many memories.

_I need you to come home. Everyone does._

But they didn't need her! Couldn't they see that? They didn't need her to come home. They didn't need the girl who got knocked up when she was a mere seventeen years old to come home. He didn't need her. Now that she wasn't carrying his child, he didn't need her. He had Peyton. They would probably go to college together and get married, and she would have his children at a _normal_ age.

The cab came to a halt in front of the tall silvery building. It's amazing how a few calls to the right people can land a seventeen year old high school drop out a job at one of New York's top PR firms. Although she doesn't get to go to the actual events, she gets to help plan them, and it keeps her head busy for most of the day.

_Mornings are the hardest. I cry… everyday._

She sees Heidi in the elevator.

"How are you, Brooke?" she asks with a sympathetic tone and matching sympathetic smile.

_I'm miserable. I miss him. I miss my home. I hate living alone. It scares me shitless. I want my baby. I hate New York. I want my baby girl. _

"I'm fine," she replies with a plastic smile on her face.

The whole firm knows about her, or at least they think they do. It is like being in high school all over again. Some people know the truth, although they are few in numbers. But otherwise, people thrive off rumors.

_I'm so sorry to hear about your baby boy. Six months old, that's a tragedy. _I don't have a dead son. _I'm sorry to hear about your twin girls. _I didn't have twins.

She's learned to ignore these office whispers and just says "thank you" to everyone who approaches her with bullshit apologies and compassion. You'd think after three and a half months here, they would've stopped saying sorry. But they don't. She assumes it's because her father calls her boss daily, to ask how she is, since she never answers her own phone. That keeps the whole situation fresh in their minds.

Sliding into her desk she realizes that it will be just another uniform day filled with routine.

"Hey," Ken says with a smirk, walking over to her cubicle.

Ken flirts with her everyday. He is also the only one who hasn't apologized for her situation. And she likes that, but she does not like him like_ that_.

"Hi," she smiles, eyes still focused on her paper.

He squats down so he is at eye level with her, since she is already sitting in her rolling chair.

He waits until she looks at him, which takes a few moments. But, she knows the question that is coming, so she turns her attention to his dark eyes not wanting to drag out this routine longer than usual. "So, I've been asking for three months now, and I think it's time for you to agree to go to dinner with me."

She's flattered by his sincerity, but she doesn't want him. She doesn't want anyone. She wants Lucas.

"I can't Ken," she says apologetically. "I want to, but I can't."

"What's today's excuse?" he asks sadly.

"My parents are coming in from California."

"What about tomorrow night, Brooke? Just give me a chance. I know you hate it here, and I know you don't want to be here, bu--…"

She cuts him off. "I can't." She smiles sadly and he sighs, mumbling a quick okay.

Ken is handsome. Ken is successful. Ken is twenty-two. Ken is not Lucas.

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She locks the door behind her realizing she has one hour until her parents will be arriving at her door. She decides to clean up a little, although she doesn't have much to clean. The apartment is small, and she didn't bring much with her. If Peyton were here, she'd think Brooke had gone crazy, not bringing the entire contents of her closet. But Brooke knows she's not _that_ Brooke anymore.

After she cleans up, she steps into the warmth of a shower to scrub the day away.

_Routine, routine, routine. _

'_I don't understand why...' she sobs._

'_Brooke, the doctors sa--...' he answers her, rubbing her back softly._

'_I don't care what the fucking doctors said!' She throws her hands up angrily. 'This isn't supposed to happen!' _

'_But it did. And I need you to let me help you...'_

'_I don't need your help!' she retorts loudly. She sighs heavily, hiccupping slightly. 'Please just leave.' Her voice is quiet, and demanding, but he doesn't want to leave her alone like this._

_She stands up and he follows her. 'I'm begging you. Please,' she says, turning to face him._

'_I'm not leaving you here alone and upset. I'm hurting too, you know. She was both of ours, Brooke. And this isn't only affecting you!'_

_She begins sobbing harder. 'Please...' She pushes him. 'Get out!'_

_He doesn't move so she pushes harder. He stands still, trying to pull her into his arms, but she is now beating against his chest furiously. '_Leave!_' she yells. After pounding on his chest for a few more moments, she feels her body give in. She falls into him. It is not out of affection, it is not because she wants his help. It is out of weakness. Her body can't fight anymore. She is drained: emotionally, mentally and now, physically. 'Please Lucas. I am begging you to leave,' she mumbles into his chest, tears staining his gray t-shirt._

_Why did he let me leave?_ she wonders to herself, tears threatening to fall, once again. The water is as hot as she can stand it, and she can see her body slowly becoming slightly redder under the heat.

She wraps a towel around her body, letting her wet hair cascade down her shoulders. She throws on one of his t-shirts and crawls up in bed, waiting for her parents' loud knocks on the door.

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The clock says 7:14 when she hears the loud knocking.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she calls as she pulls pants over her naked legs. Her hair has dried sloppily, but it is only her parents who will be seeing her, and they know what she has become. And it is her apartment, and she will look however she'd like to.

_Brooke, you need to get your shit together. I'm tired of seeing you like this._

She walks to the door, the knocking still persistent.

"Relax!" she calls as she reaches for the doorknob. "I'm right…"

She sees who is standing before her. "…here," she whispers. His hair is cut slightly shorter than usual. His blue eyes have lost their sparkle. His skin is pale, as if he has just seen a ghost.

"Hi," he whispers before hugging her tightly.


	3. Spun

**Hey you guys! I know that the order of the chapters is confusing, but that's kind of the point. You're not really supposed to understand where it's going yet. But, don't worry it's all going to make sense. Bear with me:)**

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"I can't believe you would do this to me… you're a hypocrite," the blonde states flatly, still unable to come to terms with the story her best friend had just told. She wanted to laugh, to say, "The jig's up, you guys! Really, this isn't funny, even if you think it is!" But she knew all too well that it wasn't an early April Fools joke.

Brooke stared into her eyes for a moment, trying to find the slightest bit of sympathy.

There was none.

She hadn't gone to his house to have sex with him. No girl goes to see her ex-boyfriend, who happens to be her best friend's _current_ boyfriend, with the intention of having sex with him. But, she did. She had gone there, and she had ended up in his bed, and she had ended up staying until the next afternoon, curled up in his arms, Peyton only crossing her mind momentarily before she had pushed the thought away.

"Peyton, I couldn't lie to you. I wish I could keep it from you and be able to not feel any guilt, because then you wouldn't hate me, and you and Lucas would still be together… But I can't do that. We both know how last time turned out…"

"_Last time_? Do you hear yourself?"

"How can you ask me that? Of course I hear myself!" she retorted, her tone becoming bitchier by the second. "Need I remind you who was in the cheating whore chair last time?"

Peyton sighed. "We're both cheating whores."

Brooke smiled weakly. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Peyton. I went there to talk. _Just_ to talk."

"Now, remind me where talking leads into both of you being_ naked_ and on top of each other?" Peyton retorted.

"We have history. You can't tell me that if Lucas and I were still dating, and you two happened to have a 'moment,' and ended up kissing…" Peyton shot her yet another death stare. "And _possibly_ doing more… You can't tell me it's not possible. We all have history! The three of us have too much history!"

"So what? I can't be with him because you have history with him. And you can't be with him because I have history with him. So, are we supposed to both just let him go?"

"No! You deserve him. You two are in love," she choked out. She hated that more than anything; having to convince Peyton of Lucas's love. Her heart ached for him more than anything, especially now that their spark had been reignited. But, being the "best friend" that she was, she held responsibility for reassuring her of Lucas's love.

"He doesn't love me anymore, Brooke," she spat.

"That's not true. Just because he succumbed to a moment of temptation doesn't mean…"

"Yes it does," she said, cutting the brunette off. "He broke up with me yesterday." Her eyes welled up with tears as she spoke. "He wouldn't tell me why. He just said he didn't feel the same way about me anymore."

"Peyton…" Brooke said consolingly as she pulled her best friend in for a hug. She rubbed her back and Peyton didn't attempt to move away from her embrace.

After a few minutes of this, Peyton pulled back, wiping a single stray tear off her face.

"So are you happy now?!" Peyton asked, regaining her attitude. "You two can be together. You don't have to sneak around me anymore! Yay Brooke and Lucas. Always and forever!"

"Peyton. It's not like that," Brooke tried to assure her.

"But it is. It will always be a race between two best friends for the boy who has both of their hearts."

Brooke sighed, not willing to deny something that was completely, utterly, fully true.

"He sucks," she breathed.

"Yeah," Peyton replied, choking on the word.

The two sat in silence for a few more moments, both gathering their thoughts, when there was a knock on the door. Brooke walked to get the door, being that they were in _her_ apartment.

As she opened it, however, she immediately regretted the decision to open it in the first place.

"_Lucas_," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you…" he said, before pushing his way through the white door. He immediately froze when he saw his ex-girlfriend sitting on the plush couch.

"Peyton…" he said softly. "Hi."

"Don't talk to me," she said as she stood up, ready to storm out the door.

Brooke reached out for her arm as she rushed past her, but Peyton just freed herself from her grip, storming out of the apartment. Lucas sighed before collapsing into the couch, closing his eyes as the door slammed shut.

"You look like shit," Brooke commented, collapsing next to him.

"We broke up."

"I heard."

"I didn't sleep last night," he stated, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Your looks don't give it away at all," she teased with a small smile.

He mustered all his strength to smile back at her. "So, where does that leave us?" he asked a few moments later.

"Us?"

"Us."

She thought about it for a moment, toying with the hem of her shirt.

"Lucas, I think you're rushing around right now. And I think you need to get your priorities and thoughts straight. You can't just sleep with me, break up with Peyton, and then come here expecting an _us_!"

He stood up, frustrated with her. He knew she wanted an _us_, but in true Brooke fashion, she wasn't going to comply so easily. And he was not in the mood or state of mind to fight with her.

"Okay, whatever, Brooke. Put up your walls, play your games, I'm exhausted. I'm not having one of these denial conversations," he said, before walking toward the door.

"Lucas?" she asked meekly as he reached for the doorknob.

He turned around to face her, bags under his eyes.

"_I'm late_."


	4. Hold You in My Arms

**Hi there everyone! I'm sorry for the lack of updates on any of my stories. The fashion show that I planned FINALLY ended and then I went away, and I've had so much make-up work to do since I really slacked off. And I know this is short, but I don't know- I think it's powerful. Rate & review? Love, Sarah**

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Her head is reeling. She is in his arms, but her body is limp in his embrace.

"You could at least pretend you're happy to see me," he says half-teasing, forcing a smile.

"I just… I can't believe you're here."

And she can't. He had given up on the incessant calls a month ago. Thirty three days to be exact. But what did she expect? Did she expect him to keep calling? Did she expect him to come straight to New York the second she had left in hopes of winning her back?

Yes. She did expect it.

She expected him to rescue her.

She had only answered his phone call once anyway, and the conversation was less than pleasant.

"Well, are you gonna invite me in?" he asks before she ushers him into the room. She reaches up to her head and smoothes her hair in realization of _just _how sloppy she looks.

"You look great," he comments reassuringly, as if he's reading her mind.

"You don't have to lie," she spits out, sounding unintentionally bitter.

"I'm not lying," he says softly. He's offended by her tone and her attitude, but he refuses to raise his own voice; not after this long, not while he's come up the coast to see her. He's upset that she didn't seem happy to see him, but what he doesn't know is that she _is _happy. She's wanted him to find her since the moment she left, although she won't admit this to herself.

He scratches the back of his head. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here," he states flatly.

"Kind of," she says, forcing a confused smile. She's trying her best to be warm, but in her head, all she sees is a reel of memories whirring behind her eyes. Memories that she does not want to revisit, especially while Lucas is in front of her.

"I don't really know," he shrugs. "Your parents told me how you started to ignore their calls again, and then we came up with this whole plan… I don't know. Next thing I know, I'm booking my flight…"

"Oh."

"Oh?" he repeats.

"_Oh._"

She turns and begins to walk toward the kitchen, her throat suddenly feeling dry. "I need a drink," she mumbles. He follows her lead, trailing close behind, resisting the temptation to wrap his arms around her from behind.

"So? This plan consisted of my parents lying to me and you just showing up on my door unannounced?" she asks, taking a sip of the vodka she's just poured herself.

He cringes at her attitude and in noticing that she's reverted back to the old habits he had thought to be gone for good. Her tone makes him as nervous and nauseous as he had been getting into the elevator to her apartment.

They walk into the living room where there is merely a couch and TV. He notices how unkempt the apartment is and how disheveled she looks. He can see her beauty radiating from underneath the misery she has surrounded herself with, but it takes some searching.

"It's weird to see you living like this. Living here," he comments, still gazing around the room.

"What does _that_ mean?" she retorts.

"I don't know," he sighs in defeat. "This… this life isn't you."

"You don't know me anymore."

This line hits him straight in the chest and sets off the bomb that's been held in since she left.

"Oh don't play that fucking game with me, Brooke. You're talking to _me_. I'm not your fucking parents or Haley, or Rachel, or even _Peyton,_ whose calls you've been ignoring also," he spits in sheer frustration. Part of him is disappointed in her less-than-welcoming attitude, but another voice echoes in his head softly: _You knew it'd be like this_. "It's me. I went through this, too."

She is taken aback by his ferocity, expecting the calm, mellow Lucas Scott that she had left in Tree Hill.

"We've both changed since everything happened, but goddammit, stop being such a bitch. I've been here for a total of seven minutes, and you have not _once_ acted like this is a _good_ surprise. If you want me to leave, tell me now so I don't have to waste my time…"

Her shoulders sink, and she suddenly loses her brave-fuck-the-world attitude. "I don't want you to leave. I just wasn't prepared to see you," she admits.

"Well, I'm here," he says, his voice now placid. He stands up and walks to where she's sitting. He slides into the spot next to her and puts a hand on each shoulder. He turns her body so that she's now facing him, her eyes having trouble locking with his. "I'm here, Brooke. And I need you to let me in. _It's me, Brooke. Just let me in._"

She feels the tears welling up behind her eyes, but she chokes them back. She takes a deep breath to regain her composure. His hands are still on her shoulders and after a few moments, he pulls her into a hug. His hand is on the back of her head and for a moment, for a single, solitary moment, her heart stops aching.

"What took you so long?" she whispers as a tear trails down her face.


	5. Breathe

Lucas stood in the mirror over his drawers smiling at his reflection. Everything was _perfect_, even if just for a moment. He ran his hand through his messy hair as he tried to imagine himself as a dad. Sure, these weren't the circumstances he expected… He had wanted to be a little older, a little more prepared. But at the same time, he had always wanted it to be with Brooke, so at least one thing had gone as expected.

He could hear Brooke shuffling in the bathroom, undoubtedly self-conscious about her new body. It had been five months, and her stomach was now clearly visible. She could no longer wear her favorite tight tops unless she was interested in going out in a belly shirt. She had begun wearing looser clothing… mostly Lucas's sweatshirts and t-shirts. He had left so many at her apartment in the past month and a half that his own supply was running out.

"Lucas?" Brooke called out nervously from the bathroom.

"What's up babe?" he asked. "And if you're gonna ask me if something looks good on you, you know the answer…"

"Lucas, something's wrong," she called. Her voice was muffled through the white wooden door.

"What?" he asked as he walked toward the door. It was opened a crack and he pushed it open slowly, unsure of what he would find behind it.

Brooke was sitting on the toilet, her thighs pressed tightly together, each foot messily crookedly sitting on the floor. Her face was flushed and she was bent over slightly, clutching her stomach. "What's wrong, Brooke?" he asked, becoming more worried with each second.

"Something's not right," she mumbled with her eyes pressed closed tightly. "Lucas, I'm bleeding."

He crouched down before her swiftly. "The doctor said it's perfectly normal to bleed a little… you just have to ca--…"

"Lucas, something isn't right. We need to go to the hospital."

Tears were now running down her face slowly, but she wasn't sobbing. "Okay, okay… I'll go get your jacket," he said before kissing her hand lightly.

Panic began setting in on his chest as he walked through the door. It weighed down each step no matter how fast he was moving. _What's going on, this isn't supposed to happen. Please God, make it something fixable._

In a blur, they were in the car and out the door, Brooke leaning her head against the cold window as Lucas drove ahead with tear-blurred eyes.

"It's gonna be okay," he mumbled, almost sleep-like. "It's gonna be fine."

Brooke began to sob now. First it was softly – just small hiccups and heaves. But then it became loud and heart wrenching, each sob twisting his insides. "Why us?" she asked between hiccups. "Why does this have to happen to us?"

"Brooke," he said, trying to stay composed and strong for her. "It is going to be fine." He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers, causing her to jolt at the unexpected touch. She let his hand rest there for a moment before pulling her own away sharply. She looked down at her swollen stomach and rubbed it tiredly.

"Please, baby. Stay strong," she choked out. "We're almost there. Please. I need you."


End file.
